One Damn Lucky Stud (H/D, K-11)

[Purple]

Nimi: One Damn Lucky Stud
Kirjoittaja: Purple
Paritus: Harry/Draco
Ikäraja: K-11
Genre: romance, EWE
Pituus:  one-shot, 3100 sanaa
Yhteenveto: Dracon POV. Kerrontatyyli on Dracon ajatuksenvirtaa, jonka takia pilkku- ja pistesäännöt ja muut flowta häiritsevät on heitetty romukoppaan ;3 Perustuu erään larp-jatkumon tapahtumiin, 8. vuoteen. Tarina etenee tavallaan takaperin.

A/N: Iski ihan jäätävä inspis yhtäkkiä ja tämä teksti syntyi pelottavan helposti ja nopeasti. Syytän tästä ficistä Nukkemestaria, jonka kanssa päästiin joskus neljältä aamuyöllä siihen tulokseen, että vaikka kaktus on söpö jätkä, niin Harry ei ole ihan niin piikikäs. Ja Draco is a happy kitty. Nukkis myös linkkas mulle sen biisin (Studio Killers - Who Is in Your Heart Now), josta sain inspiksen tähän Siksi tämä onkin omistettu Nukkemestarille~ Jostain syystä teksti halusi syntyä englanniksi.

One Damn Lucky Stud

Do you ever feel like falling
For someone you never thought of falling for
And all your friends and foes, they thought they knew ya
But look who’s in your heart now


*

When he looks at me that way, my heart skips a beat. And I’m really so fucked.

I never thought that one day I would be one of those people who have gone all loony. Somehow, the world seems so much brighter now, the food tastes better, the weather is nicer, teachers seem to give less homework and the first years are not even close as annoying as before.

I thought that I would never fall head over heels for someone, that I was too rational and above such Hufflepuffish feelings. But I was wrong. Oh, how wrong I was.

I’ve got it bad for him.  He makes me forget everything else, and every morning I wake up with a smile on my face. I thought this kind stuff was for all those too happy and annoyingly cheery people. I feel almost disgusted with myself – why can’t I control it? What’s really wrong with me? Why can’t I raise my eyebrow questioningly when he smiles at me at breakfast; why does my face break into a smile without me even noticing? Oh, how the mighty have fallen, but if falling feels this wonderful, I’m not sure do I mind…

These feelings are so intense that sometimes it scares me. I feel like I’m drowning in them, not being able to breathe; and it’s scary how I don’t even notice how much I am giving away myself to him, slowly going the way of no return. I’m already in too deep, already given too much, and I can’t turn back anymore.

I try for him. Really try. Sometimes I manage to stop myself on the last moment before I say something stupid; I try not to insult his friends. However, I’ve found that these habits are not easy to break. And I’m deathly scared that someday I’ll mess up badly, and he’ll walk away. And I don’t know why I fear so because I also know that he is someone who can forgive. But what if he gets tired of me? What if he decides that I’m not worth it, that I’m too difficult and too much work? What if he finds someone better? Sometimes I feel that I’m not worth him. That someone so bright and pure doesn’t belong with someone like me. That I’m lacking in too many ways. If he left me, I don’t know if I could ever heal.

But when he smiles at me, in the way that make my knees go weak, I want to believe. I believe we could work. Really work. After all, of all the people in the world, he chose me, the unlikeliest of all, even though he could probably have gotten anyone. I believe that despite all our differences and the history between us, we could really understand each other. Maybe that’s exactly why we do.

When I’m with him, I like myself more, I feel like I am great and gorgeous and funny, all the things I want to be. And I’m confused, is this love, is this how it feels like? I’ve never been in love, and it’s all so new. Sometimes I wonder, could this be what happiness feels like?

Mind you, I still haven’t gone totally bonkers. I still think his fashion sense is atrocious and I would really like to give him a helping hand in that. He still couldn’t dance or deal with the press and celebrity to save his life. He still has that annoying hero-complex, but I have to admit his hair is rather sexy despite everything I might have claimed before, especially in the morning. And he makes funny faces when he’s surprised, and he’s hot when he’s angry. His force of will and vitality are something to be said for. And those eyes. Need I even say? His warm body fits so well against mine. His laugh has a beautiful tone to it and his calloused hands and his dark eyelashes feel nice against my skin.

And I want him all to myself; I want him to love me more than he loves anyone else in the universe. I want him to show me sides of him that he’s never shown to anyone and never will. I don’t want flowers or chocolate or sweet words (yuck); I just want him to really look at me and see me the way I want him to see me and stay there.

And really, let’s not forget that I want lots of that great sex too. It’s pretty important.

And I know that I’m probably looking at him through that famous rose-tinted glass now but I couldn’t care less, for I have found something precious I don’t want to give up




I will never forget the day he told me he likes me. Before that day, I had never truly felt hope, not like that at least. The Slytherins, they were joking about us, and it was like salt to a wound; they thought we had gotten together, even though nothing like that had happened. We had simply had almost a civil, although awkward conversation for the first time like ever. I told Pansy about it. I knew she would probably gossip about it to all the other Slytherins, but it was really starting to get too much, and I wanted to talk about it. And the way they looked me after that, I felt like they thought I was out of my mind (which I probably was) and that I was somehow less of a person. And I hated that, because I‘d always wanted them to respect me. I was a Malfoy after all, it was my place.

But Draco you were wrong about that too

In the end, they too, would smile at us, tease me about it, tell us to slow dance. And I realized, that maybe, just maybe, I had some true friends after all, who wouldn’t mind who I loved, even if they didn’t understand it. That they would still, despite everything, stand by me. God knows why, but I ‘m still grateful, somehow.

I know I can be charming, I know that I am smart and clever and great in many ways. But I also know that there are qualities that make people hate me. I don’t really care if they do. Most of them can never get to me; I am too far apart from them. They are too ordinary, too boring and below me in too many ways. I just want that handful that matter to love me, boundlessly.

Maybe I am a tad narcissistic, but that can be lovable too, right?

I am not sure when he sneaked his way to that small handful. Did it start after the war, after he defended me and my mother in the court? Maybe it started in the sixth year, when I hoped I could get out of the mess? Or maybe it was in the first year, when I wanted him to be my friend and he refused, leaving me horribly offended and angry? Or maybe it was when I first heard about him, as a little kid, being amazed that there could be someone like him.

And trying to hide it, because father clearly didn’t like him, and how I kept thinking about him, the boy who lived, and how father told me to make friends with him; that it would be useful, and how I failed, and how he always won me in every single thing – it was his fault, we never got a chance to win in quidditch or House Cup

When the Slytherins would tease me, I would wonder what they saw. Did they see something I didn’t? Maybe Harry wasn’t as indifferent towards me as I had thought? And when I would feel a sliver of hope, I would crush it quickly, because in the end, I would only be more disappointed. That day, when my godmother sneakily managed to get the confession out of me, she and the healer would practically force him to admit it to me too. When he walked around the cellar room, more nervous than I had ever seen him, I would wonder. I would feel hope, and realize that maybe it wasn’t impossible after all. And I would get closer to him, pushing him to say it, because I really, really wanted to hear it, and I just couldn’t believe it after I actually heard it. Of course it would be him who would first say it. I never could have.

When I heard those words, my whole world would suddenly tip upside down; and I wouldn’t care about anything else anymore. I would tell him I liked him too, and we would jump straight to it without a moment of thought. There was such heat, and I would touch him to somehow tell him something I wanted to say but didn’t know how, and didn’t know what it actually was

And we would talk, talk more than we ever had. There was a party upstairs but I couldn’t care less of missing it, I had actually forgotten all about it. When we finally decided to show our faces to the world again, stupid smiles were plastered on them. The rest of the evening, we would simply enjoy each other’s company. Weasley would reluctantly offer his hand taking me really off guard with that too, and we would quickly shake. If Weasley was ready to try, I would too; I wouldn’t lose to him in this. But me and Weasley, we would definitely never ever become friends.

And it felt almost like we had always been together. We fell so naturally in it, without much thought or effort; it was like we had known each other for ages, there were no shy blushes or first dates. It was almost violent in intensity, like everything between us had always been

And I would get angry at the Dursleys when he told about them to me; everything about him made more sense now, the old clothes and the awkwardness with attention.  I would tell him about my past too, and sometimes, very carefully we would talk a little bit about the war. He would thank me for not exposing him in the Malfoy Manor, and I would thank him for saving me.

Mind you, Malfoys never thank their enemies for such things, and I would tell him that and he would simply laugh and say that it didn’t have to be like that – maybe some Malfoys did. And then he would look at me softly and say that if it mattered, he heard nothing; and so I could pretend and keep my pride

I wonder, how he can understand so, and how I become more and more transparent to him; how he just seems amused about my mood swings and attitude. Sometimes, when he thinks I’m going too far he looks at me seriously and tells me he doesn’t like what I’m doing. And the way he looks at me, makes me feel strangely guilty about things I never felt guilty before. I’m not sure do I like it, but he makes me want to be a better person. I could be stubborn and not listen but he just makes me melt so, and I feel pulled towards different directions. Sometimes I don’t listen to him, and he gets sad or angry, and I can’t just bear him looking at me like that and in the end it’s usually me giving in.

Who am I kidding really? He has always won; although I can be persistent, I just can’t win that tenacity of his, and I hate losing. On the other hand, he spoils me, and I have always been good at getting what I want; I’m not above of taking advantage of that weak spot he has for me. And really, he doesn’t seem to mind that much either, sometimes just giving in to my whinges.

I can’t pinpoint the moment I fell for him. It was a gradual process, creeping on me silently and without any warning. Little by little, I would become more aware of my feelings. I would deny them, not wanting to see them for what they were. I would try to push them away, like I would stop feeling if I refused them enough. I don’t know how long they were there, or when my desire to be his friend and the hate that followed changed to something else, or when my jealousy of his character would merge into reluctant admiration.

I always wanted to be acknowledged by him

And one day last autumn it would all come crashing down on me and I would realize just how fucked up I was when I woke up to a dream of him, those green eyes haunting me for days and days and the ghost of his touch lingering on my skin

I didn’t know how to act around him, so I tried to stay far away from him. I would almost involuntarily steal secret glances, hoping and dreading that he would catch me in it. And I hated him because he made feel so unworthy, hated him because he had brought me down on such a level, hated him for making me feel all those unwelcomed feelings. And he presented everything I both loved and hated; the epitome of the opposite of all my failings, the one thing I could never get.

I was glad when I heard he and the Weasley girl had broken up, as if it made any difference, and as if there was any more chance he would suddenly fall for me. And he looked so down after that and I felt viciously content that he couldn’t find happiness with the Weaslette. And then I felt guilty about it, because he wouldn’t smile in such a long time and there was this emptiness in everything he did. I hated him like that; he should have been the strong and bright one, the one that nothing can bring down, except maybe me.

Before, I liked to think that I had a full control of my emotions. That I was cool and controlled, that no one could see the deepest parts of me I didn’t want them to see. That my mask was perfect and no one could read me. I liked to think I was like my father who I admired; that I was as collected as him. But those were really just my wishes and wants and didn’t reflect the truth.

The reality is that I can be quite emotional. If I was in control, I could have been indifferent towards him from the very beginning; looked at the situation with cold, detached rationality. Instead, my pride got wounded and I felt insulted; I got angry and wanted revenge; I got jealous and didn’t want others to have what I couldn’t have either.  I had gotten so used to getting everything I wanted, and it shocked me to core that someone dared to refuse my gracious offer; it was a privilege to be my friend.

I would find the words that would hurt them the most (one of my less flattering skills); I would search power and confidence in bringing others below me. I would enjoy getting him riled up – he posed an interesting challenge; someone who dared to stand on equal grounds with me; and I loved how I could get under his skin like no one else. If he didn’t want to be my friend, I definitely wouldn’t let him forget or ignore about me either. I would make him notice. Sadly, it rarely ever went as planned.

I really haven’t changed that much, but I’ve grown up a lot from that impetuous child. It was always a bit hard for me not to say the things on my mind. The temptation to say the last word, to make a sarcastic comment is often just too much to stay quiet.

If speech is silver, silence is gold, but silver is my colour.





I still think that they can never truly understand the way of magic; they don’t understand the depth and history, where all the customs and culture are coming from. And we’re scared that they will change our society so that nothing of the old we find so dear is left anymore. That the amazing stories of past will disappear in the tides of time in this change.

For them, magic is just a tool. Yes, they might think it’s something amazing and fun, but they don’t really feel it in their whole being. For us, it’s not just a tool; it’s who we are, in the deepest parts of ourselves. It is our dearest, oldest and most trusted friend. We give ourselves to it, and it gives itself back to us – it’s an exchange. Magic is who we have always been, since eons ago, and now they are coming to our world, not knowing or understanding anything about it, pushing their own ways, the muggle-lovers.

He is one of them too, and I’m not sure what to think about that. Maybe we can try to live between the two worlds, both respecting our different roots; maybe we can try to understand and not push our own ways on each other. But is such coexistence possible? I don’t know. Only time will tell.





And our relationship is so volatile with hot and cold that sometimes I feel like it will all blow up any moment; and sometimes it’s like the most serene day and the still sparkling surface of the lake; and it is all so contradictory that I feel like I’m lost in a maze and don’t know how to handle it

And then he gives me those eyes boring deep into me, and I feel like my life is so, so fucking awesome and complete; and I am fucking awesome and he is fucking awesome and we can be totally awesome together

And I can’t believe how lucky I am

Because yeah, Draco Malfoy, you are one damn lucky stud

[Nukkemestari]

Hm, tuntuu kauhealta kommentoida tähän, kun tulee olo että täytyisi kirjoittaa jotain kauhean syvällistä. Oli sen verran hienosti ajatusmaailmaan porautuva!

Hauskaa että saimme pysyvämmän muiston hienosta aamuöisestä chättituokiostamme  Kiitos omistuksesta<3

Hufflepuffish on vain niin suloinen sana, kuten jo chätissä totesin. Ficissä käydään läpi hienosti läpi vivahteista eri tunteista, vaikka ne ovatkin menneisyytä.

En oikein tiedä mitä muuta sanoisi, kuin että tämä oli hyvin Dracomainen jopa ihan tekstitasolla mietittynä. Tyyliin kaikki sellaiset pienet jutut, kuten

And he looked so down after that and I felt viciously content that he couldn’t find happiness with the Weaslette.

ovat upeita.


Niiin ja todella suloinen. Täytys todella miettiä Harryn päänsisäistä menoa...

[Purple]

Nukkemestari:

Jee kiitos kommentista! Totta kai omistin tän sulle, koska olet ollut vahva vaikuttaja koko jutun muovautumisessa ;3 Hyvä että oli Dracomainen, ja että tunnevivahteet välittyi. Oli aika pelottavaa, kuinka helposti tää ja kaikki sävyt syntyi, kun kirjoitin tätä vähän niin kuin in-character :'D

[Wizardine]

Voi ei, nyt ei taida irrota mitään rakentavaa... Tämä oli vaan yksinkertaisesti aivan ihana!

Pystyin helposti kuvittelemaan kaiken tuon Dracon pään sisään, ja niin kuin edellä mainittiin, teksti oli täynnä hienoja, Dracomaisia elementtejä. Tapa, jolla Draco kuvaili Harrya oli sydämet sulattava.

En keksi muuta järkevää sanottavaa... Kiitos aamuni piristyksestä.